Marco was unprepared for the tears streaming down Benito's face.
"I'm going to Hades," said Benito grimly.
"Hades?"
"Apparently where this cult sent Maria to."
"You mean Hell?"
"They say it isn't the same at all. Just the Kingdom of the Dead. Except that she is alive in it. I want to bring her home."
"Are they telling you the truth?" Manfred asked doubtfully.
Benito shrugged. "It's a chance I'll take. I'll try anything. The nymphs seem quite earnest about it. The entry is on the Greek mainland. The Byzantines are nominally at least in control, but I can get a fishing boat to take me across without causing any upset, I reckon."
"I will accompany you," Erik said firmly. "For two reasons, Benito. One is that you've come with me, and been my spear carrier, and borne me away on my shield when I needed that. The other is that I also lost someone precious. I would give anything to see her again. Anything at all."
Benito took a deep breath. "I don't know, Erik. I don't know if they'll allow it. And even if you do find Svanhild . . . she is dead, my friend. Maria is somehow alive down there. They tricked her into this. I'm going to get her back if I can."
Erik smiled sadly and put a hand on Benito's shoulder. "I know this. But you must understand. Even if the chances are tiny, we must take them. Even if I can only speak to her, I will accept that. The loser must accept what terms he can get. And Svan . . . there were so many things I still wanted to say."
Manfred lumbered to his feet. "Well, I have to tell you this. This time, you're not—either of you—going off on this without me."
"I cannot permit it. It is too risky," said Erik, automatically.
Manfred squeezed his shoulder. "Erik, you are my bodyguard and my friend. But the dangers of the halls of the dead don't relate to the body. The dead don't touch the body. They can't. What they can damage and destroy is the mind and the heart. To be honest with you: Your mind and heart are a lot more fragile than mine."
"You don't have a mind to damage, above your belt," said Erik grumpily, a spark of his old self asserting itself. "But I cannot take that chance."
"I'm not actually giving you the choice, Erik," said Manfred with simple finality.
Benito realized, then, just what power rested in the House of Hohenstaffen. The Emperor ruled millions in the Holy Roman Empire . . . but it wasn't just because of being in line to the throne that Manfred could speak so. Erik had always seemed to order Manfred around. For his own safety and good, of course. But when he wanted to exercise it, ultimate authority rested with Manfred. It always would.
"We'll have to do this quietly," said Manfred. "Or I'll have to go through this pointless argument with everyone. Organize it, Benito."
"The Acheron? You want the
Nekromantio Arheas Efiras
?" asked Spiro. "Don't do it Beni'," he said, for once in earnest. "That's a bad lot of fakes that. They prey on the fact that if you've lost someone—you're miserable. Easy victim. They're parasites, bloodsucking ticks. Once someone's time comes; they're gone." He put a hand on Benito's shoulder. "Come and have a drink with me and talk it out. I'm buying this time."
Benito was touched. Spiro's ability not to pay for wine was as legendary as the fact that he would never be serious. Now he offered to do both.
"Thanks, Spiro. Not this time. And I'm not going to the
Nekromantio
. Maria was taken before her time. I have talked to the nonhuman waterfolk. They say there is a way that I could go, on a lake called Acheroussia. And neither you nor anyone else can stop me. Apparently if it isn't my time, the Lord of the place can't touch me. Of course, he might not help either."
"Well, we'll take you. Land you quietly. The truth is the Byzantine officials aren't locals and the locals aren't about to tell them about a fishing boat from Corfu. A Venetian galley would be another matter."
Benito nodded knowingly. "Exactly what I thought. So: Can I hire a passage over?
Spiro nodded. "Taki will say yes."
Manfred spent the trip over-polishing his armor. Polishing it to a mirror-gloss. Manfred was methodical about weapons and armor, without the fanaticism that characterized some Knights. This was excessive and unlike him.
Finally Erik asked why he was doing it.
"Cleanliness is next to godliness. And where we're supposed to be going to . . . I thought I could use a bit of help."
Erik snorted. "In your case, I think it is futile."
"My nurse used to tell me about the gray hosts when I was a gossoon," said Manfred. "Bright steel was supposed to banish 'em. I thought it might be useful."
From the hilltop, they could see the lake. Its dark waters were long and narrow, and a patch of cold mist clung to the middle. But it looked depressingly like a very ordinary lake.
They walked down to the edge where the limnaiad awaited them with a bag of old, old coins. She pointed at a seemingly ordinary boat rowing toward them. "Charon. You will need the obols for the ferryman. Don't expect the other side to be anything you recognize."
Erik shrugged. "I can see the other side from here. It looks very much the same as this side."
"There is more than one other side to the Acheroussia," said the limnaiad, in a cool voice. "You'll see."
Benito opened the bag and counted the coins. "Three is not enough," he said, sternly. "I want eight."
The limnaiad pouted. "They said you wouldn't know."
"The more foolish them, whoever they were."
"The Crenae."
"I wonder how well they do in dry fountains. I saw some ways of draining this lake, on the way here."
"Don't pay the ferryman until you get right across," said the limnaiad hastily.
The beach of black sand seemed to stretch to the far horizons. The only mark on it was the keel of the ferryman's boat. And looking back they could only see mist.
"You won't need the rest of that," grumbled the ferryman, as Benito put the purse away.
"Return fare."
The ferryman snorted. "I've never had one."
"We'd still hate to get back here and find you weren't going to take us because of it," said Manfred cheerfully.
They walked onward, in toward the gray gloom of the interior of Death's country. The way ahead was funneled by tall, glassy black cliffs. And then they came to an end point, a place where only three trails led on. One steep, rocky and draggled with straggly thorns, and seeming to peter out a few hundred yards on. The second, wide and well cobbled, went on into the middle distance. The third seemed to lead off into a valley winding up toward the cliff-top.
"Where now?" asked Benito, looking at the three trails.
Erik took one look. "The narrow one. The hardest one. Mortals are not supposed to pass."
"It would be," said Manfred with a groan. Climbing a steep path in armor was pure misery.
Upward and ever upward the trail wound. Eventually they came out at a misty gray plain.
"Do we have any idea where we're going next?" asked Manfred.
"To look for the dead, I suppose," said Benito.
"We're already among them," said Erik slowly.
Benito realized that the gray mist around them was full of shifting forms, almost seen . . .
Out of the corner of his eye he could see faces. He could also see the expression of eagerness on Erik's face.
Benito took out a small crock sealed with wax from the bag he'd carried with him. He opened it and poured the contents into a dish.
"What's that?"
"Colyva. Taki insisted I bring it. He said it feeds the souls of the dead and they'd be more likely to leave us in peace." Taki had had no trouble in believing they were coming to visit the dead. The captain had stayed sober the whole trip and Benito had seen him crossing himself and fingering an amulet repeatedly.
"What is it?" Manfred looked curious and hungry enough to steal morsels off the plate set for the dead.
"Wheat, pine nuts, almonds and raisins. And pomegranate seeds. I had the merry devil getting hold of those. All soaked together in honey. Each part of it has some significance, but Taki was pretty vague about it. It's as old as Greece, he said."
"If the dead don't want it, I could use it," grumbled Manfred.
But the dead did. Kin came first. And then friends.
Erik looked for Svanhild. But she wasn't there.
He peered forward, into the distance.
Manfred looked oddly at his friend. "Erik. You remember you said you'd never leave her?"
Erik nodded. "My vow. I wish . . . I wish I had not broken it. I will doubtless go to the place of oathbreakers."
Manfred shook his head. "No," he said solemnly. "You won't. She promised the same, didn't she?"
"I think so. In her dying breath."
Manfred took a deep breath. "I think you've been looking in the wrong place. I don't think she'd come here; this place is for the people that believe in it. She's gone somewhere else. And she's waiting for you. But I think—" he added, warningly: "That if you try to get there too soon, she's going to have some sharp words for you."
"The Lord of the Dead has sent me to fetch you into his presence," said one of the shades. "But only you may come into the presence of the living Embodiment of the great Goddess. She wishes to see you, and Aidoneus cannot refuse her."
"I want to see her, too. But what about Manfred and Erik?"
"They must remain here. No harm will come to them. No harm can."
Benito walked through shadows. At length, he came to a great hall. In the middle of it, in a patch of sunlight, stood an almond tree in full blossom.
And standing in front of it were two people. Not the insubstantial shade-people of this place, but real people. One of them was Maria. Benito gave a glad cry and would have run forward, seeing her there. But something stopped him.
"I can put unimaginable distances between us should you even take one step further forward," said the stern-faced man at her side. "The avatar of the Mother, the great Goddess, She who is the earth of Corcyra wants to speak with you. Speech I will permit. Nothing more."
"I've come to fetch her. She doesn't belong here in this prison."
The Lord of the Dead shook his head. "She came willingly. She has to honor her bargain."
"Did you, Maria?" asked Benito calmly.
She nodded. "I thought you were dead, Benito. Alessia was dying. I thought I could save her and the island."
Benito grinned. "You told me I wasn't allowed to die without your permission. You think I'd dare disobey? Seriously, Maria. They tricked you into this on false pretenses. That's no bargain. A bargain takes honor on both sides, Lord of the Dead."
Maria turned to Aidoneus. "You knew he wasn't dead."
Aidoneus nodded reluctantly. "Yes. I told you: I number the living and the dead. I can see the ends of the threads of destiny. I can see his end and I can see yours. Yours is far. Further than earthly time would allow. You must be remaining here in the underworld. Our time passes differently, and does not wear out the flesh as fast."
Maria's eyes narrowed. "But when you asked if I was a willing bride, I told you that was why: Because Benito was dead. You deceived me.
You cheated!
"
Aidoneus was silent for a long time. Finally he spoke. "Yes. I do cheat, but only by allowing people to cheat themselves. I wanted you. Your spirit is bright and strong. Many of the brides who have come were barely able to sustain themselves, never mind sun and light and flourishing life."
"The compact is for a willing bride," said Maria. "You told me that. You asked me if I was willing. Twice! You knew that you were deceiving me. That's why you tried to stop me seeing Benito in the shadows."
The Lord of the Dead held up a hand. "You gave me three reasons for being willing." Aidoneus pointed to Benito. "He was dead. Your baby was dying. And the siege was killing your friends."
Benito's eyes narrowed. "You know that Maria is destined to live for many years. Just exactly when is Alessia's time?"
"It is some time into the future," said Aidoneus calmly. "I may not tell mortals the exact time or place of their dying. I also may not lie."
"So you cheated a second time," accused Benito.
Aidoneus nodded. "But the third reason would have been true. The weave of fates was altered by her coming here."
"So does one third of a compact make it valid?"
Maria pursed her lips. Then, rubbed her square chin. "I don't cheat, Benito. It makes it one third valid. Because I was willing for that reason."
Benito sighed. "Agreed. But that still makes you mine for one third, 'Lessi's for another. Doesn't that outweigh the other?"
Maria sat silent for a while. She looked from Benito to Aidoneus, biting her lip. "Benito. You've just come all the way to the Kingdom of the Dead for me. No one else could do something like that. But fair is fair. One third of my life is Aidoneus'. He—and Corfu—need me."
The Lord of the Dead looked at her with eyes of longing, and sadness. "I'll accept that," he said quietly. "I did cheat. But I also gave fair return."
Maria nodded. "You did. But can
you
accept it, Benito?"
He started to reply immediately. Always the quick-witted one, Benito was. But then—perhaps for the first time in his life—stopped to think first.
Really
think.
He thought for quite some time.
In the end, it was the quietly sad, longing face of Aidoneus that gave Benito his decision—and, perhaps most important, allowed him to accept it calmly. For all that the two didn't look at all similar, there was something about Aidoneus that reminded Benito of Umberto Verrier. Lonely men in middle age—insofar as that term could be applied to someone like Aidoneus—who always did their duty. Including, when the need arose, sheltering and caring for a woman that a younger and more flamboyant man had not been able to do. Or willing to do.